


To Enlarge Her Kingdom

by Cadjet001



Category: Original Work
Genre: Annual Femslash Kinkmeme, BDSM, Collars, Demon & Human Interactions, Demon Sex, Demon Summoning, Demon/Human Relationships, F/F, Fantasy, Kink Meme, Lesbian Sex, Magic, Oral Sex, POV Lesbian Character, Sex, Sex Magic, Topping from the Bottom, Witchcraft, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:36:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28556247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cadjet001/pseuds/Cadjet001
Summary: For the 2020 Femslash kink meme prompt here:https://femslash-kink.dreamwidth.org/35992.html?thread=4346520#cmt4346520Original: Inexperienced Witch/Unusual Succubus, A novice witch accidentally summons an unusual Succubus.A first time summoner calls up something much older and much more powerful than she bargained for.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character, Witch/Succubus
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23
Collections: The Annual Femslash Kink Meme 2020, The Annual Femslash Kinkmeme





	To Enlarge Her Kingdom

One winter solstice when there was no moon in the sky the demon princess Jazramine descended from the vault of night as a cloud of black mist. The demon had grown bored of her domain’s alien delights and intended to indulge herself with the mortal world’s women. Travelling on the night winds she roamed from north to south until she came to a land which she had never visited before. Changing from mist to woman, Jazramine set about exploring the cities, the towns and the villages of that country. She seduced blushing milkmaids as a tomboyish tinker, fucked painted prostitutes as a corpulent merchant and deflowered a princess wearing the face of her favourite cousin. She lured wives from their husbands, warriors from their posts and priestesses from their vows. She took some of her lovers to the heights of ecstasy, while others were used and abandoned with cruel disdain. How fascinating she found them, those fragile creatures who she could see aging and dying with every breath they took. Jazramine had watched the myriad worlds from the dark between the stars for a billion years, but never had they given rise to creatures so entertaining as humans.

After crossing the land twice and sampling most of what it had to offer Jazramine grew tired of toying with mortals from a place of power. From east to west she drifted, searching for a woman who could confidently put her in the subservient role. A powerful knight of the royal academy perhaps, or maybe a lady admiral of the fleet? To a prince of high darkness all were tiny and frail, but among themselves the humans formed a hierarchy of great complexity and depth. It was one of her favourite things about them, how one hairless ape could hold total dominance over another with nothing but a length of steel or a bit of gold.

Finally, unable to decide on a paramour, the demon princess began to fly down towards the capital’s central slave market. She planned to hide among the prisoners there to be sold, but as she passed over a small village not far from the city she heard a sound that changed her mind. Soft human words carried on the wind around her, almost too quiet for even her sensitive ears. It was the voice of a witch-woman summoning a demon to come and obey, and not just for any task. The witch wanted a succubus to serve as her plaything. To Jazramine the meaning of the summons was as clear as day, but to a lesser spirit they would have seemed to be only enticing music, just on the edge of perception. Such a demon would have followed the sound and fallen right into the witch’s trap, ending up with a chain of supernal syllables wrapped around her mind. The spell could not normally ensnare a princess of the outer dark, but for the first time in millennia Jazramine wanted to be compelled.

*

Emily Danstan stood alone in her bedroom, naked except for black gloves which reached her elbows and matching stockings which stretched to her thighs. The clothes had once belonged to Emily’s great aunt Camilla, the last member of the unhappy Danstan line to have wealth and prestige to match the family’s lineage and its last practicing magician. The book Emily held was new but the words inside were Camilla’s as well, laboriously copied from her own crumbling spell book in Emily’s neat hand. Emily was alone in the dusty, half derelict manor house, her chant of power the only sound to break the oppressive silence. The bedroom window was open to admit the demon she hoped to summon, and the crackling fire which warmed the room threw eerie shadows upon the wall.

Emily put the book down on her dressing table and struck a pose, her head held high, shoulders back, hands on hips and legs slightly apart. She stared down her nose at the spot on the worn carpet where she expected her demon to appear and hoped that she had gotten everything right. It was the first time she had ever tried to summon a spirit any stronger or smarter than an impling, and even though she had checked and double checked her work a sickly mass of doubt wriggled at the back of her mind. She had about a minute until a succubus answered her call and perhaps made her the slave. Worse, she had about a minute until she might have to face the fact that she was not much of a witch at all.

She started counting, one, two, three. There was no change in the room, no distinct smell or magical music. Eighteen, nineteen, twenty. There could already be a demon right behind her, waiting to pounce when she let her guard down. Twenty eight, twenty nine, thirty. A full set of shackles and a strong leather harness lay on the table beside her book. They’d cost more than she could afford. Fifty eight, fifty nine, sixty. No sign of anything. She had failed then. Emily relaxed her shoulders. A cold supper and a cold bed awaited her, then a cold year before she could try again. She turned back towards the dresser to put her book down, and as she did bank of black fog came rolling in through the open window.

Emily spun on her heels and immediately began chanting the final lines of the song, the ones which would bind the demon to her. “Daughter of night who comes here roaming, daughter of night not used to kneeling, daughter of night well made for kissing. Serve me, serve me, serve me, I who am so deserving. Love me, fuck me, honour and obey me…”

The cloud coalesced into a solid shape and there was her demon, down on its knees in front of her with one pair of hands clasped behind its head and the other folded behind its back. The daughter of night was six feet tall easily, with the sculpted body of a temple statue and skin the colour of polished onyx. A third eye blazed on her forehead and her ears were long and pointed. A white flame blazed above her head, the crown of a prince among spirits. Even an amateur magician like Emily knew Jazramine the Proud, lord of the first black sphere, teacher of sorcery to men and bane of heroes. After a moment meeting the demon’s fiery gaze, she fainted clean away.

*

Emily woke up in an unfamiliar bed, covered in fresh silk sheets and propped up on luxurious pillows. After a few groggy moments her memory swam back into focus and her blood froze as she realised that she must have been carried off to the depths of night. The room was completely silent, with warm sunlight streamed in through the windows. Surely she was moments away from being eaten or worse!

Sunlight? The part of her brain which wasn’t frozen with fear took notice. Obviously there was no sunlight in dark beyond. The room should have been lit by pale white lamps, shimmering pyreflys or the dim, lurid light of demonic bodies. Emily sat up slightly and looked around. She was in her own bedroom, she realised. Everything was exactly as it had been but the dust and decay of poverty had fallen away. The bed hangings were new and vibrant, the brass lamps were polished and gleaming and the walls were freshly papered in the Danstan colours of red and blue. The family crest was everywhere she looked, two black eagles framing the apple of knowledge.

Was this the demon’s doing? Where was she now? Emily closed her eyes and took several deep, meditative breaths. There were two possibilities. The room might be some kind of cruel demon’s prank, in which case she was already doomed. Or, she might somehow have ensnared a prince of high night, which was impossible.

Bracing herself for who-knew what Emily opened her eyes and saw her demon, still kneeling on the rug, her hands still clasped behind her. Her noble head was bowed to the floor, the flame above it bright and harsh to look on. Jazramine the Proud was indisputably _there in Emily’s bedroom_ , waiting at the foot of her bed in the pose of a well-trained slave girl awaiting her first order of the day. Emily sat and stared at the demon, waiting for her to move, or speak, or pounce onto the bed and eat her heart in a single bite. But Jazramine remained silent, and Emily realised that she must make the first move.

“Stand, girl,” she said. It was audacious, but all the legends agreed the lord of the first sphere admired audacity. Jazramine stood up with inhuman grace, keeping her eyes downcast. Her body was astonishing, breasts and thighs and belly and face reflecting an ideal that went beyond words, just as the mad poets said. “Why are you here, demon?” said Emily.

“I came in answer to your call, good mistress.” Jazramine’s voice was deep and beautiful, with an accent Emily had never heard before. It was the voice which had drifted over the desert and echoed through the grey mountains to drive nations to war. “I am your humble slave, bound by the song of lords to serve you for a year and a day.”

A demon princess would lie about many things, Emily thought, but would she lie about being enslaved? Would her pride allow the words to pass her lips? There was one way to be sure, one order she could give which a free demon would not pretend to comply with. If she spoke it and was wrong her life was forfeit.

“Extinguish your flame,” she said, her heart freezing in her chest. “Slaves don’t wear crowns.”

“Yes my mistress,” said the demon, and the fire above her forehead faded to nothing. Emily slowly exhaled, her fear replaced by a growing sense of unreal wonder. She might not be in immediate danger, but surely this was some kind of bizarre mistake? She couldn’t really have summoned and bound one of the most power full beings to ever walk the human world. It was impossible, stupid, the stuff of fantasy, the kind of hubristic fever dream which her great-aunt’s writings had warned her about. She got up from the bed and walked slowly over to the dresser, not taking her eyes off the demon. Her aunt’s book still lay there, and next to it the heavy red collar with its rows of brass spikes. Emily picked it up and approached the kneeling demon. She felt faint again, felt certain that she was about to wake alone in her decaying mansion, a failure by the light of day. The collar opened in her fumbling fingers, the spikes cold and undeniably solid. She held it out and the demon bent forward slightly to accept it.

Emily tightened the dog collar around Jazramine the Unmerciful’s throat, and the world did not disappear. She took a half dozen steps backwards and sat down on the foot of the bed, her legs open, and did not wake up. She ordered her demon to crawl forward and pleasure her and the daughter of night obeyed, a long tongue snaking out from behind sharpened teeth to explore Emily’s sex. She gasped in anticipation as the demon touched her, still expecting on some level to have her soul torn from her body, but no pain came. Jazramine was a master of any skill she chose to put her mind to, and within moments Emily was moaning in pleasure such as she had never felt before. Never had she been touched as the demon touched her, with red tongue and black fingers which held a million years of cleverness, guided by a mind which had known everything there was to know about Emily Danstan from the moment it had laid its fiery eyes on her.

The demon brough her to the edge of orgasm and held her there, and held her there, and held her there while she whimpered in ecstasy. Emily found that she couldn’t speak, couldn’t pull away, couldn’t do anything but sit helpless on the tip of the demon’s tongue. With the lightest touch of her ebony lips their roles had been reversed. With the tips of twenty fingers she was held captive. Within moments Emily was ready to plead to be Jazramine’s slave or prey if only the demon would let her come.

When it finally came the orgasm crashed over her with an intensity which she’d never imagined possible, and as she climaxed she saw a vision. She saw herself seated on a throne, the little mansion exchanged for a palace whose towers rose to scrape the sky. She saw armies marching at her command, legions of men and women in shining steel whose banners bore the eagles-and-apple. The kings and queens of the earth came to offer her their daughters, sisters and selves as her concubines, the most beautiful maidens gathered from the four corners of the earth pleading to be allowed to touch her even once, the whole of humanity turning around her like the earth turned around the sun. It was a vision beyond the wildest fantasies of generations of Danstan women, so real and vivid that she half wanted the pleasure washing over her to turn to fire, fire to burn her to ashes so that she wouldn’t have to look away.

Then the demon was on top of her, kissing her, and Emily saw a different vision. She saw herself kneeling as Jazramine unbuckled the collar and closed it tight around her own throat. She saw the demon leash her with a chain made of lightning and leading her crawling on her knees up, up, up toward the vault of night and the endless howling darkness which had birthed demonkind uncountable eons before. She saw herself surrounded by Jazramine’s kin, her children and grandchildren and countless other lovers, saw herself working for their pleasure in ways she could barely comprehend and adoring them for every agonising caress. She was harnessed to a comet, whipped by the solar wind, stuffed full of stars until she pleaded for mercy that would never come. She was the lowliest of playthings, an infinitesimal spark of ecstatic suffering fixed to the black dome of the sky by nails of solid darkness, a human voice mingling with the song of the cosmos as she begged for more and harsher use from every spirit that passed her buy. It was a vision of what happened to magicians who brought the attention of the high powers of night down on themselves and it was so, so tempting.

The visions faded and Emily lay exhausted in Jazramine’s arms, clinging to the demon’s body, amazed by how warm and solid it was. She felt as though she were standing on a razor’s edge between two infinitely large chasms, knowing that she was about to fall but unable to tell which way. On the one side awaited temporal glory, on the other divine damnation.

“You have a year and a day to choose,” whispered Jazramine. “For three hundred and seventy days I am your toy, and then we will reconsider our relationship.”

“How many times have you done this before?” said Emily in the smallest of whispers. “How many people?”

“I have a thousand human pets who’ll gladly help to break you in,” said the demon. “And I know a thousand tyrants on a thousand worlds who’ll be pleased to greet you as a peer. But put your choice aside for now pretty mistress. A year is plenty of time to think your fate over, and I am here to please you. How does breakfast served on my breasts sound?”

**Author's Note:**

> Now that I read this back it seems more like the setup for a harem comedy.


End file.
